


Swimming

by Viscariafields



Series: Leandra Hawke [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Nudity, Prompt Fill, Skinny Dipping, Swimming, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Hawke goes for a swim. Fenris mistakenly believes she is in distress.Everything that follows is very silly.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: Leandra Hawke [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462840
Comments: 17
Kudos: 104





	Swimming

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a summertime prompt fill-- FenHawke and Skinnydipping.
> 
> Many thanks to Draga for all her help on this one.

“Do you think we could go swimming later?”

Hawke couldn’t come up with a single reason why they shouldn’t go swimming _now_. So she and Merrill found a small beach next to a cliff, stripped down, and enjoyed the afternoon sun in the gentle waves. Some musty old cave filled with bandits or whatever could wait. She had floating to do.

She had missed the summer of the previous year, down in the Deep Roads. Bethany probably didn’t get to go swimming now, and Hawke’s thoughts quickly grew morose. That wouldn’t do. She needed to think of something pleasant as she listened to the waves, her hair floating around her while she drifted.

Fenris was pleasant.

Well, frequently he wasn’t. A little cantankerous at times. Could stand to be nicer to Merrill. A bit sharp along the edges.

Hawke liked sharp. The network of scars on her hands were proof enough of that. Or the collection of daggers littering her home. Or the twelve or so knives she always had about her person. Except for right now, of course, while she was blessedly nude in the water's embrace. 

The point was sharp worked for Hawke.

So to regain a pleasant frame of mind, she focused on Fenris, and her imagination delivered. If she quieted her breaths enough, eyes closed against the bright sun in the sky, she could almost hear his voice. It sounded like… velvet? No, velvet didn’t growl, probably. Velvet made of sandpaper? That was probably just called sandpaper, and it didn’t do him justice. He didn’t grate on her. No, it was like…. like the utter relief at finally scratching an itch she just couldn’t reach. He spoke, and she melted just the tiniest bit.

She could almost hear him calling her name now.

“Hawke!”

There it was again, though not exactly soothing. She could think of better things for him to say than just her shouting her name. Something about simple pleasures and wine, maybe. Flames, he could talk about blades for an hour and she'd probably enjoy it. 

“Hawke!”

A shadow passing over her closed eyes was all the warning she got before she was yanked out of her floating position. She flailed against the strong arm holding her, but her head remained above water. Whoever had her—Fenris, she realized—was holding her tightly and swimming with her toward the shore. 

She stopped struggling.

“What the absolute fuck?” she managed to get out, fear and surprise now replaced with embarrassment, confusion, and a growing awareness that she was completely naked and pressed up against his bare skin.

He kept swimming, seemingly unaware that her entire body was now blushing. She didn't know how he couldn't notice with the _heat_ of it.

“Fenris!”

He slowed but didn’t let go of her. “I’m bringing you to shore.”

She wiggled in his grasp. “I can do it myself! Maker’s breath, what are you doing?”

He let her go, and she turned to him, treading water. Her confusion was reflected on his face. “You looked… you did not respond to my calls. I thought…” As he spoke, her eyes traveled over his bare shoulders and chest, his torso disappearing into the dark water. His eyes evidently made a similar trajectory, because he blurted out, “You’re naked” just as she said, “They really do go all the way down.”

“Pardon?” he asked, his cheeks a charming shade of red as he turned away from her. She noted the way he flexed the hand that had held her, opening and closing his fist, even as his face went stony and neutral. He was breathing hard. He must have swam at some speed to come to her aid. The redness in his cheeks was probably due more to exertion than any consideration for her body.

She held one arm across her chest, hoping he truly hadn’t heard her stupid comment. “Um. I wasn’t expecting company. Or a rescue.”

“What were you doing all the way out there?”

“I was floating.”

Fenris pushed his hair out of his eyes, and Hawke realized it was the first time she’d ever seen his forehead. It was beautiful, like the rest of him, if also marred by lyrium. He caught her staring, their eyes locking for a moment before his flicked down once more and then raised to the heavens, his face turning just a shade redder.

Not entirely exertion, then. “Why are you even here?” she asked.

Fenris cleared his throat. “Varric said you needed assistance with some job. We came to meet you.”

“Varric’s here?”

She whipped around, but she didn’t see him on the shore. That didn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere, watching this. Laughing. Taking notes. Probably put Fenris up to this in the first place. _You should go check on her, elf. She’s a weak swimmer._

“We should head back,” Fenris said, interrupting her many thoughts on how to repay him for this.

“I’m waiting for _you._ ” He frowned at her, and she clarified, “I can’t very well swim in front of you like this. You go first.”

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat again. “Sorry.”

He kept a slower pace this time, though his rhythm was smooth and his form was precise. She idly wondered when he had learned how to swim and who had taught him. Her own technique was haphazard, sometimes a sidestroke, sometimes a front stroke. Occasionally she liked to kick her legs like a frog. She was still feeling sort of dazed by the fact that mere moments ago Fenris had held her naked body against him, albeit in a hold meant for a drowning person. She couldn’t have dreamed up that scenario if she’d tried, and Maker knew she had thought of many dumb scenarios that ended with her naked and his arms around her.

They were good arms, cutting through the water. They were attached to good shoulders, and frankly, given that he had gotten to see, well, everything, it probably wasn’t wrong for her to admire them as they headed for the shore. She so intently watched how the muscles in his back flexed with each stroke, she swam straight into a rock jutting out of the water. Fenris glanced behind him at the noise, no doubt convinced now that she _was_ a weak swimmer ready to drown at the nearest opportunity, and she waved.

Finally her feet found purchase on the sand. If she were being honest, it was possible she had been out in the sun too long and swam too far, because her muscles were feeling a bit like jelly. Maybe it was good Fenris came along when he did. She stayed hunkered down in the water as he walked ashore, the sun gleaming off his shoulders, his soaked breeches hugging his skin. His muscles certainly weren't jelly. He ran a hand through his hair and shook it out, and only when he turned to see her watching did she realize her mouth was hanging open. After a moment he grinned.

“The beach is yours,” he called, picking up his armor and walking off.

She stood up tentatively, fairly certain there were no prying eyes on her to steal what was left of her dignity but determined to look relaxed and confident in case there were. No one could shame her if she wasn’t ashamed. That’s what she told herself anyway, right up until she stepped on a sharp rock and her leg went out from underneath her. She landed on her hands with a surprised yowl.

There was a blue streak of light, and this time Fenris found her on her hands and knees, ass in the air. He held his sword in his hand, and for a moment she thought he might just take a swing at the rock that felled her. She sat back into the water, covering her chest with her arms again, and choked out, “I’m _fine,_ Fenris, _really_ , except for my pride, which has taken a beating.”

He glanced around once more for potential threats before his eyes landed and skittered right off of her. “Sorry,” he stammered, “I—”

“Maker’s breath,” she interrupted him, “If I die today, you will ensure it is from embarrassment and no outside threat.”

“I—” he tried again. And whether it was his pink cheeks or the way he pinched his nose, or maybe just the dehydration from the sun, Hawke started to laugh. Her shoulders shook even as she held her bosoms in her arms and gentle waves crashed against her bare behind.

Fenris cast a wary eye at her as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “Am I right in assuming that in addition to being unarmed on a coast full of smugglers and bandits, you are also dehydrated, sunburned, and suffering from overexertion?”

“N-no,” she stammered, another giggle threatening to escape her, “I’m also bleeding.” She gestured at the offending foot as the tide washed out, and Fenris shook his head.

“Wait here,” he commanded. And frankly, between all the options she had at that moment, it was the easiest. She was _tired_. Forget bandits. After this, she was taking a nap.

Fenris returned and handed her his shirt. She held it up, trying not to let the ocean get on it. “Do you want me to… put it on you?”

“It’s for you,” he growled, determinedly facing away from her.

“Oh.” That made sense. It was long enough that it covered her, the hem hitting her thighs.

“And that is why,” she told Varric much later that evening, sitting around a campfire and passing a flask of terrible whiskey, “I walked into camp wearing nothing but Fenris’s shirt. And I won’t have you making untoward assumptions.”

“That all makes sense to me,” Merrill said, and Varric snorted. "Well, the sun is much stronger here than in Ferelden, and Hawke has been _very_ red all night."

Hawke nodded seriously and took another drink. 

Varric, on the other hand, did not seem convinced. “Is this all true, elf?”

“No,” Fenris replied, stone-faced, and Hawke’s mouth dropped open. It stayed open as he continued in a dry, almost bored fashion, “When you arrived at my mansion this morning, Hawke and I had already planned a secret seaside meeting for our torrid love affair. Despite the midday sun and the knowledge that our friends were in close proximity, we decided to give in to our passion on the beach, and then failed to cover our tracks whatsoever. Our secret is out.”

Varric guffawed at that. “Okay, yeah, put that way, Hawke’s story is definitely what happened.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think this whole event set their love story back like a year or two. 
> 
> You can send me more prompts (or whatever) on tumblr. Nug-juggler.


End file.
